This is a collection of anecdotes from the fringes of reality, a tapestry stitched together from our dreams as well as our nightmares, from the fears that haunt the collective imagination. These are the symptoms of the sickness known as the human condition.

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Death for the Dead

Miles Webber was once the most well-known musician in the western world. After his untimely death at 29 Miles’s mortal remains were interred in a private mausoleum. The single room structure with its Romanesque column and a statue carved in the likeness of the departed strumming a guitar placed at the summit of the pitched roof was like a small temple where legions of followers could flock to pay their respects.
Over the years through the crowds dwindled and before long even his most ardent admirers stopped making the pilgrimage to Miles's shrine. The decades passed, and the people who could remember seeing Miles play were themselves starting to part from the earth.
Life goes on, and of course, death follows. The cemetery continued to expand, and the once prominently placed monument to Miles was now obscured by mausoleums built for other forgotten entertainers.
Even before they died, the few lucky enough to have their remains committed to such an exclusive graveyard were commisioning grandiose palaces for their stay in eternity. Like the cults of the ancient gods, they wanted their temple and diety to overshadow the myriad of lesser corpses. It was a sort of keeping up with the Joneses for the dead.
The statue of Miles standing at the entrance of the tomb was now a faceless figure. Its features sanded away by time. With the adoring fans gone the only person to visit the crypt was the landscaper. He tended to the flowers and shrubs artfully arranged around the mausoleum.
What we do does echo in eternity. Miles became a famous, and as a result, a young man has a job maintaining his grave. A duty he will likely pass down once his time on earth beings winding down. Just like the current landscaper, he will be too young to remember Miles Webber.

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